Taking a deep breath, Alan crouched down and pressed his fingers against the rail, feeling the vibrations of the oncoming train. It was still many miles away, but the grinding of the wheel against the track provided more than enough notice for anyone paying attention. He twisted his wrist and looked at his watch, counting five seconds before looking back down at the track. Based on how the vibrations intensified, he could determine how far the train was.
"It's still seven miles away," he muttered.
"Well that's good, because I'm getting sick and tired of being here."
Alan looked back and saw a young woman leaning against a lamp post, one of her boots pressed against her, the other on the ground. She was lithe, her body wrapped in tight black pants and a matching black shirt, leaving little of her figure to the imagination.
"You signed up for the job, Alyson, the least you can do is stop bitching about it," Alan said, standing up straight.
"I'll bitch about what I want," she barked, "this job is turning out to be more of a hassle than is worth the time."
Alan rolled his eyes and walked away from the girl and tracks, his boots grinding into the gravel. He was a good looking man, tall, with dark blue eyes and a bald head. But he hid his looks behind his beard, thick and long, similar to all the hipsters who had found solitude in Brooklyn.
They had agreed to take the job on because the payoff was going to be incredible. The train was the property of a big drug cartel and it was being used to smuggle drugs into the country. It was going to stop here, just north of the former Mexican-USA border, to drop the cargo off. Then it would continue on its way, making drop offs along the way.
Alan and Alyson had been hired to steal the drugs from one of the drop offs. Times had changed since world governments collapsed. Anarchy had taken over, so it was a game of survival of the fittest. Smuggling drugs had become much easier than it had been in the past, allowing cartels to ship tons by the train load.
At each drop off, the cartel would unload 1500 kilograms, just a little over 3,600 pounds of the finest, purest cocaine that anyone had ever tasted. Government or not, people loved their coke for partying and the cartels were more than willing to provide it.
"Remind me that I am never taking another job with you, Alan," Alyson said, playing with a silver pistol in her right hand.
"Why? Because you can't handle the amount of money we're going to bring in?" he asked. "Or because you know you're not cut out for this level of job."
Her eyes darkened and she closed the distance between the two of them. She raised the gun and pressed it against Alan's forehead, her intense green eyes narrowed in anger. "You know I am more than cut out for this job. Don't give me any of your manipulative shit," she said.
"Damn, Alyson, someone's in a really bad mood today. Didn't get fucked right last night or something?'
She pulled the hammer back on her pistol and ran her finger over the trigger. Alan stared her down, knowing that to wince would be to die. He knew her type; he had run with girls like Alyson for far longer than he probably wanted to admit.
"Mother fucker," she said, but didn't pull the trigger. He could see she wanted to, but he also knew that she wanted the money. Show her you won't cave and you're fine, he thought.
"Now can we please get ready? The plan remains the same. In about four minutes, three pickup trucks are going to pull up. Each will have four armed cartel soldiers," he said.
"No shit, sherlock. I'll be about five hundred meters away with my rifle. You'll take the first shot in close range and I'll pick off anyone who tries to aim at you," she said.
"Exactly," he said. "But we need to wait for the pickup trucks to be loaded. We only have about thirty seconds between when I first shoot and when the soldiers on the train get off, so we won't have time to load the trucks ourselves."
"I understand," she said, "like I fucking understood the last three times you told me. I'm going to get in position." With that, Alyson turned and walked away, grabbing a long, black bag from the ground. She hoisted it over her shoulder and jogged off.
"Mmm, I can't tell if it's your body or your attitude that I like more," he whispered, before looking east. The train was still a few miles away, but he could see six headlights coming his way and with them, 12 armed cartel members ready for anything.
Alan had watched the same drop-off for the past four weeks, knowing exactly where the train would stop each time. He knew exactly how they unloaded the train, how many men would get off to do the heavy lifting. In total, it would take five minutes to move 500 kilograms to each of the trucks. Once those five minutes were up, the fun would begin.
As the pickups got closer, Alan walked away from the drop-off, down the track toward the oncoming train that was still about a minute away. He then slid down into a ditch and kept his body pressed low to the ground. He pulled out a small, sub-machine gun and looked over it, making sure it was ready. He then pulled out another one and repeated his analysis.
"Here we go," he whispered as the ground around the track started to shake with the oncoming train. He heard the squeal of brakes as the train came to a complete stop.
"Ey, ey! Let's go! Unload the fucking train, cabrone!" yelled one of the cartel men. Right on time, Alan thought.
"Shut up, puta. We're moving as fast as we can," replied another, the sound of kilos hitting the beds of trucks filling the air.
He looked down at his watch and pressed a button on it, the timer beginning to tick down. As each minute expired, he felt his adrenaline kick up a notch. He had done jobs before, but never two versus twelve, with another who knows how many waiting on the train.
But when each kilogram would sell for $25,000 and they were going to steal 500, the idea of a $10 million payday was too good to pass up. Give two million to their boss and both Alyson and he would walk away with $4 million.
His watch vibrated and he gritted his teeth. Time's up, he thought.
Pushing himself out of the ditch, he crouched low to the ground and quickly moved the fifteen steps it would take to get within range of the cartel soldiers. He then stood up straight, aimed one of the SMGs, and pulled down on the trigger.
Bullets ripped through one of the cartel soldiers, blood splattering the side of one of the trucks. Alan stepped forward and raised the other gun up, pulling back on the trigger. A second soldier fell back as three bullets pierced his chest, his body slamming onto the ground.
By now, the others had realized what was going on. One of them aimed his assault rifle at Alan, but then grunted and fell to the ground, a large hole in the center of his forehead. Alyson.
"Fuck! Get cover!" one of the soldiers yelled, but then flew backwards Alyson shot a huge hole through his chest. She was using a high-caliber rifle, far more firepower than was necessary for this range. Her gun, her choice.
Alan walked toward the trucks, his aim moving from soldier to soldier. They were all caught up in the surprise of being attacked from both sides, the sniper rifle drilling into them anytime they took cover. But anytime they rose to fire at Alan, he was already aiming at them, bullets piercing their faces and chests with intense accuracy.
His watch vibrated again and he knew that he was out of time. The sniper rifle went off again, knocking the last of the 12 soldiers onto the ground. Dead.
Dropping his guns to his side, the two straps holding them against his body, he ran off to one of the pickup trucks. Just as he reached the front door, the sniper rifle shot again, hitting a man that was just about to step off the train. I'm out of time. I need to get the fuck out of here!
Another shot rang as he slid into the driver seat and started the engine. And then another shot. And another shot. He saw the tires on the other two trucks explode. Smart, he thought.
He put the truck into drive and gunned it, the engine roaring as it sped off from the track. Soldiers emptied out of the train, shooting at the speeding pickup truck. Alyson continued shooting, soldier after soldier dying as he drove off. They tried to fill into the other pickup truck, but without tires, it didn't matter.
A moment or two later, Alan came to a stop on a hill and rolled the window down. "So can I interest you in a ride?" he asked, looking at the woman lying on her belly, sniper rifle aimed forward.
"That'll be nice," she said, her voice much softer. She pushed herself up, dusted off, and then walked to the truck, a sway to her hip that had been missing when she had originally walked away. She threw her bag into the back of the truck and whistled as she saw the five hundred kilograms of cocaine. "Damn," she said.
"Yeah, damn indeed. Come on, we have to go," he said.
"Alright," she said and opened the door to the truck. She slid in and didn't say a word as Alan gunned it.
She reached over and placed her hand on his thigh, her head leaning down to rest against her shoulder. He looked over at her and his eyebrow rose.
"Do you have any idea how fucking mercurial you are?" he asked her.
"I know, baby," she said. "But it's also why you love me."
Alan sighed, nodded his head, and drove off, he and his girl far richer than they had ever been before.